Today I spent the day at pony club surrounded by small children. Normally I work mainly with adults, but this was only 3/4 of a day, it was nice weather and they were desperate for someone. I decided to be that someone.
And then I realised.
I had just had an “old” normal day. One where I went out on the weekend and did something. One where I didn’t once think of myself as “on treatment”. One where I wasn’t mollycoddled or cossetted, and one where I didn’t do that to myself.
I was sensible about it. I didn’t fit in as much as I normally would have done. I made sure the day was not going to be from sun-up to sun-down. I only worked with little people. Other people did the running around for me. But I used my brain (which worked!), I managed to do my job without stuffing up and I felt like I was on top of things. I wasn’t at my peak, but this was my first outing all year at this sort of event. I’d lost a bit of “match fitness” but I could still remember complicated rules and regulations and manage to explain them.
Then I came home, fed the animals, lit the fire and collapsed on the lounge. I’ve been on it for a while, but I’m weary, not fatigued.
It’s the tiredness of a job well done.
I couldn’t do it every weekend like I used to, but I was pleased to be able to do it at all.